Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(60)

Only me.

Anything else will be suicide.

You have about two hours, maybe three at the most, before my jury selection concludes, and then it will be too late. Resist the urge to act impulsively, to try to see his face, or to come back into the courthouse and confront him. Curiosity is not your friend.

Time is ticking, Dan.

Please trust me…please believe me…please help me.

Jordan

Jordan shivered at the sheer intensity of the note, wondering what Dan would do. Every instinct in his body would want to rush in and save her immediately, identify and confront Zane right there on the spot, but hopefully, he would heed her warning.

She knew Zane and Axe—or whoever he brought with them tomorrow—could easily overpower a building full of humans, manipulate their minds, make child’s play of any human weapons, but—and she was really counting on this exception—it would take a lot of time and attention to control something as organic and crowded as a busy courthouse, all the way down to the bailiffs, security guards, and armed officials at the front doors. Jordan was betting on the fact that the Dragyr also preferred to lie low, to remain undetected—they didn’t care to be on the nightly human news, destroying a seven-story building.

Bottom line: They couldn’t be in all places, in all the courtrooms, and on all the floors of the District Plaza at once.

She sighed, feeling curiously small and ashamed: It was a truly shitty thing to do, and it made her furious that she might feel guilty, even for a moment, about choosing to fight for her life. Just the same, she had seen the sincerity deep in Zane’s eyes; she had felt his terror when she had leaped over the falls; and she had tasted his longing…for her…in his kiss. And she knew, perhaps for the first time since she’d met him, that this wasn’t a game; it wasn’t an act; and the stakes were incredibly high. But she couldn’t think about that now—all the things that Zane had told her—not only about the conversion, but how irreversible it was.

If she entered that temple on Sunday, there would be no turning back.

She shuddered and reached for a thick terrycloth robe hanging on an ornate sapphire hook by the bathroom door. And then she shrugged into the garment, tightened the belt around her waist, and raised the collar to her chin in an effort to conceal her neck.

Truly, it was like she was hiding…

From Zane.

And from herself.

From what she knew she was capable of doing—whatever it took to win her freedom.

f

Zane drew back the covers and waited—practically holding his breath—as Jordan came out of the bathroom, padded across the floor, and made her way toward the large wood-and-iron bed.

The energy that had been coming from that bathroom was distressing, unnerving, and alarming at best, and he didn’t know how she would react to the fact that he was lying in the bed, waiting to greet her, that he had no intentions of spending another night in an armchair that reclined, no matter how comfortable the cushions.

Not to get it twisted: He knew better than to make a move on Jordan, to try to take their connection to another level, physically—she wasn’t ready, and that was putting it mildly—and he certainly had no intentions of trying to feed, to reanimate his fire, though the impulse when he was around her was all-consuming. Just the same, he also knew that his presence, being next to her, was more imperative than ever.

His dragyra was frightened.

She felt alone.

And she was struggling with a major, heavy decision….

More than likely, it had everything to do with what was hidden in her purse, and he was taking a major risk by not following through, taking control of the situation before it got out of hand. But in the end, he wanted her to keep her dignity—he wanted to gain her trust. And right now, he wanted her to feel his nearness: to know that he was there…with her…beside her…and for her. She could reach out to him as a friend and a partner.

As she rounded the corner of the platform and approached the edge of the bed, the side of the mattress she had slept on since Sunday night, her eyes grew wide, she froze in her tracks, and she stared at him like he had donned his bestial scales.

“Shh, dragyra,” he whispered in a soothing, gentle voice. “I am not here to take advantage. I only want to lie beside you.” He shrugged, unsure if she could see it in the dimly lit space. “And honestly, I need to get some sleep.” He patted the mattress beside him and crooked his fingers, ushering her forward. “Come. Lie down. Trust me.”

She lowered her head and shut her eyes, almost as if those last two words had somehow shamed her. Ah, so it had come to that—she was still going to try to escape their fate. More than likely tomorrow, after they crossed through the portal…

He buried the hurt that welled in his chest and watched her like a hawk as she shrugged out of the robe, dropped it on the floor, and climbed into bed: slowly—tentatively—and with great reservation. He waited until her slender frame sank into the mattress, her hair fanned out on her pillow, and she seemed to find a comfortable position on her side, her back blatantly turned toward him. And then he snuggled up beside her, careful to keep his hips—or anything else untoward—from touching her curves as he wrapped a strong, enveloping arm around her waist.

She immediately stiffened, but he didn’t care.

Her arms were crossed over her chest, her fists tucked beneath her chin, and he intentionally slid his fingers over her wrist and gently clutched her hand, interlocking his fingers with hers. Her breath quickened, and he squeezed her hand. “Listen to your heart, Jordan,” he whispered softly. He knew he wasn’t playing fair—he was consciously invoking their shared, singular flame, magnifying the flicker in his mind’s eye, and coaxing it to burn brighter with his voice. “Follow what it’s telling you, dragyra. You know me. You recognize…this. You are free to be at peace.”